Authors: Patricia Pacjac Carroll
Tags: #Christian Books & Bibles, #Literature & Fiction, #Historical, #Westerns, #Religious & Inspirational Fiction, #Religion & Spirituality, #Christian Fiction
Liberty Belle
LIBERTY BELLE
Patricia PacJac Carroll
Copyright© 2012 by Patricia PacJac Carroll
All Rights Reserved
ISBN number 978-0-9820673-4-5 Print
ISBN number 978-0-9820673-5-2 E Book
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be
reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the author.
The characters in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people or events is coincidental.
Categories
: Religious, Spiritual, Christian, Fiction, Historical Romance, Inspirational, Western, 1859 Denver, Stagecoach, Outlaw, Forgiveness, Freedom and Independence, Mother/Daughter
Publisher: PacJac Publishing
2
nd
printing October, 2012
http://patriciapacjaccarroll.blogspot.com/
Cover and design by: Delia Latham,
Dedication
To my husband who has given so freely to let me write
and follow my dream.
I love you with all my heart forever.
~
To the Lord and for His Glory.
That I may publish with the voice
of thanksgiving, and tell of
all thy wondrous
works.
Psalm 26:7
... where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.
2 Corinthians 3:17
Table Of Contents
Chapter 1
Crimson, Missouri
1859
I can do this. I will. I have to.
Liberty Auraria Longstreet stared into the gold-framed mirror hanging in the tiny church dressing room. She hoped to come up with an answer, a secret way to escape her fate. Instead, her image told the facts. She was to be married. Today. To Thomas Garvey. And all because Mother lay so near death that her weakened condition prevented even her attendance at the wedding.
Libby’s groaning sigh stirred the air in the claustrophobic enclosure. Why did Mother’s dying heart have to sentence hers to a life with a man she didn’t love? Libby pulled the lace hanky from her sleeve, fingered the intricately initialed
E
, and wiped a tear from her cheek.
With eyes squeezed shut, she searched her mind for the man in her dreams—the one she’d imagined on countless long nights. The one she’d dreamed of under sun-filled skies in the garden. The one she desired to come find her, speak life into her heart, and whisk her away to a life of adventure.
She sighed again. He only existed in her dreams. Her hopes had been replaced by Mother’s pale face and gasping desire to know her only child would marry into a prominent family.
Libby reined in her grief and spoke to the mirror. “Any dutiful daughter would grant her mother’s dying request. After all, I am twenty and don’t want to end up a spinster like poor Aunt Flora. I’ll go back to Georgia with Thomas, live at Thousand Oaks, and resume the southern belle existence Mother always wanted for me. Parties, balls, a grand life.”
The tightly pulled corset, a necessity in order to fit into Mother’s wedding gown, squeezed her lungs and cut her breaths into mere puffs.
A sharp rap on the door startled her.
“Libby, honey, the ceremony is about to start.”
Father’s voice, although not gruff, warned he’d no longer be kept waiting. She straightened her shoulders, twisted the key in the lock, and left her temporary hiding place.
He moved to her side and held out his arm. “You’re as beautiful as your mother was on our wedding day. Nervous?”
Nervous.
More like trapped. The knot in her stomach rose and formed a noose around her heart. Swallowing hard, she looked up at him and had to choke back her own tears when she noticed the uncharacteristic moisture under his eyes. She patted his forearm to reassure him while longing for some assurance of her own.
“I’m ready.” She winced at the squeak in her voice.
The organ whined out a song that sounded as miserable as she felt. She stood by her father and waited. And waited. The music played on but not the agreed upon wedding march. After several stanzas, the anthem changed to the organist’s favorite hymn, “Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken.”
Libby almost choked at the selection but she
couldn’t have chosen a better title to match her mood. A few people on the other side of the doors sang the familiar song. Murmurs soon drowned them out.
Father cleared his throat and pressed his clammy hand to hers.
She just wanted the ordeal to be over.
The afternoon sun peeked through the stained glass window and showered her in a rainbow of colors. Hope fluttered in her heart. Maybe this marriage would work. Maybe she would learn to love Thomas. Maybe—
The doors to the sanctuary creaked open and Aunt Flora eased her thin frame through the opening. With face flushed and eyes bugged large and round behind her spectacles, she tiptoed toward them.
Libby tightened her grip on Father’s arm.
Had something happened to Mother?
Her aunt flashed her fan, creating a breeze that rivaled a hurricane. With a conspiratorial glance, she stepped closer to them and whispered, “Oh dear, me. I hate to tell it. The groom has gone missing.”
Jaw muscle twitching, Father balled his free hand into a fist. “Missing!”
The air whooshed from Libby’s lungs.
Missing?
Heat flooded her face. She tried to breathe, but the confining corset refused to budge.
“Oh my, Thomas’ sister said he gave her a note. Mr. Garvey is questioning his other sons about the boy’s whereabouts. The man is frightfully angry. I’ll tend to Libby if you want to have a little talk with him.”
Thomas is missing?
Libby’s mind whirled as relief tangled with remorse.
Father snorted. “I’ll talk to him all right. Talk to him with my knuckles.” With war in his eyes he placed her hand in Aunt Flora’s. He rolled his broad shoulders, threw open the doors, and stomped down the aisle, bellowing like an enraged bull.
Libby peered inside the church and lost what little breath she had left as a hundred sympathetic eyes stared her way. She needed to breathe but her ribs couldn’t move. Panting like their old hound on a hot day, her mind suddenly floundered until a roaring sound crashed over—
“Oh, Libby? Can you hear me?”
After struggling to blink, Libby managed to open her eyes and became all too aware that she’d fallen to the wooden floor. Standing above her, Aunt Flora nervously peered down at her.
“How … please tell me I didn’t faint.”
“Oh dear, me. I would. Except that, well, you did.”
Could the day get any worse? Libby struggled to sit and regain her senses. Riotous crashes and shouts boomed from the sanctuary.
“You take that back or I’ll wallop you.”
Libby’s hands flew to her face.
Father.
“Mr. Longstreet, your wife’s daddy always said you were common, and your temper proves him right. Just glad Eleanor is not here to see you act in such a manner.”
Mr. Garvey.
Her heart sank.
“My manner? Your son leaves my daughter at the altar and you call
us
common? Then again, maybe Libby’s the lucky one, spared the embarrassment of being yoked to your irresponsible, limp-brained son.”
Father!
More yells and clatter followed. Women and children streamed out of the church, pausing only the briefest moment to gawk at her. With Aunt Flora’s help, Libby scrambled to her feet in time to step aside so as not to be trampled. Putting a gloved hand to her forehead, she prayed she was in someone else’s bad dream but more of Father’s angry shouts inside the sanctuary proved it was her nightmare. Embarrassment rose all the way up her neck, and she was sure, leaked crimson onto her face.
Father has started a brawl in church.
Nose bleeding, Thomas’ uncle burst through the doors, stopped, and glared at her. “Your father’s crazy. I am sorry, Miss, but no man from a respectable family’s going to marry you now.” He plastered his bloodstained handkerchief back onto his face and rushed to catch up with his wife.
Aunt Flora patted her shoulder as if comforting an abandoned puppy. “Oh dear, me. Now don’t you pay him any mind. I’m sure plenty of young men will want to ask for your hand.”
Libby stared into the sanctuary. “I’ve got to stop Father before he hurts someone else.” She shoved through the throng and made her way toward the front. A tug from behind stopped her. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw two small boys pulling the large bow of her dress.
Aunt Flora shooed the children away. The boys left but their fingerprints remained. Libby cringed as she could now add the destruction of Mother’s beautiful satin gown to the day.
A loud whack captured her attention. Two men held her father while another held onto Mr. Garvey. The front pew on the bride’s side was overturned. Pastor Dobbs’ lectern rested crazily against the back wall and the old pastor, with his white mane askew, held up the Bible, hollering in his loudest fire-and-brimstone voice for the men to stop.
Eyes wild and shirt torn, her father fought with his captors. “If I see that no-good son of yours, I’ll thrash him. You hear me, Amos?”
Mr. Garvey’s bald head glistened as he wrestled to free himself from his oldest son’s grip. One arm broke free and he jabbed a finger at her father. “I hope he’s far from here. It pains me to think of Thomas related to you in any way. As for Libby, keep her—”
Hot anger overtook her desire to become invisible. “Mr. Garvey!”
She yanked off her veil and marched between the men. She faced Thomas’ father and glared at him through a curtain of fallen curls. “I assure you, I have no intention of ever stepping foot in your house or Georgia again. If you see Thomas, be sure to tell him that I do not want to marry him.”
She pushed the unruly strand from her face, thrust her chin high, and strode to her father. “I believe Mother will be anxiously awaiting us.”
The brutes released her father. With a growl toward Mr. Garvey, Father grabbed her arm and headed for the side entrance, pulling so hard she tripped. After a frantic grab, she caught hold of Pastor Dobb’s black robe, righted herself, and winced at the sound of ripping fabric.
Father didn’t slow. Charging forward he roared, scaring away anyone in their path. Held fast in his grip, Libby staggered blindly behind. Burning tears escaped despite her valiant attempt to keep them corralled. She hadn’t really wanted to marry Thomas, but to be left at the altar?
Aunt Flora caught up to her, pulled the remnant of the pastor’s robe from her free hand, and traded it for a hanky. Grateful, Libby mopped her face and smothered a sob. Thomas could have at least warned her. Although her heart wasn’t broken, her pride was shattered. And then there was Mother to consider.
Finally outside, Father released her. “I’ll get the carriage.” And he was off, parting the crowd as if he were Moses at the Red Sea.
